The Ride
by JeniOctavia Ramsey
Summary: Arthur Faust was having one of those days. You know, the one where only the small things go wrong, but still bother you. Atleast. That's what he thought.
1. One

The Ride.

One:

The date: February 12th. A cold, foggy morning. A silent morning.

Arthur Faust stood in his kitchen, staring out his window. A man of roughly thirty-five, Arthur wouldn't necessarily be called unattractive. With short cropped brown hair and hazel eyes, he had sometimes been told he resembled one celebrity or another. He didn't agree with most of those claims.

He wasn't a tall man, around five and a half feet, but he was muscular. This came from his daily exercise routine: A four mile ride around town on his sport bike, from his house on Rendell, up Carrol and around Nathan Avenue on the lake, and down King. His co-workers at at Neely's Bar thought he was crazy, but he didn't care. After all, he worked the night shift, so he had his days to himself.

On this day, he had decided to dress for the weather conditions. He usually rode in a pair of cargo shorts and a black T-shirt, but today he had selected a grey sweatsuit. He sipped from the mug of black coffee he'd fixed and grimaced.

"What a day to run out of cream."

Arthur poured the rest of the coffee down his kitchen drain and dropped the mug in the sink. His house seemed a bit shabby, but it was good enough for him. He made a living at the bar, and that's all that mattered.

His keys were sitting on the counter by the door, waiting. With a practiced grab, he snatched up the keys and swept out the door, closing it and locking it behind.

The air was frigid and damp outside. His skin crawled in response to the air. It just seemed to feel...Wrong. Perhaps it was the abnormal stillness that day, or simply the cold and low visibility.

Arthur turned his wrist over, examining his watch. To his dismay, it had stopped at the 7:24 mark. As near as he could figure, it had been an hour since he'd last checked it, when it was working. 8:24, and it still seemed to be just past dawn. The fog was really doing a number on his senses.

He stepped down from his screened in brick porch, letting the door bang shut. The sound echoed and carried through the layers of miasma shrouding his street. They seemed oddly amplified, which only made the unsettling silence more grating.

Around his house, Arthur's bike waited for him, chained to his garage door. The year before, his bike had been stolen from right under his nose. Now he didn't dare leave it unlocked. When he'd moved to this town, he'd been told it was one of the safest towns in the country, nearly crime free.

_Sure. Crime free. Fuckin' Mayberry, right here._

Arthur crouched beside his bike and sorted through his keys, selecting each one he needed. He kept it double locked, with the best chain he could get. No fool with metal shears was going to get his bike. At least, not if he had anything to do with it.

After a few minutes of work, he managed to release his bike from it's chain prison, and began rolling it down the driveway. The street he lived on was nice enough. It was one of the residential areas, with houses rather than businesses and apartment buildings, like that grotesque old flop house, Woodside. He hated passing that place on his ride. It gave him the creeps.

He stared down Rendell, squinting against the blinding white. He could make out cars parked along the street and in driveways. He saw no motion, aside from what appeared to be a large dog. It loped by, crossing the street into the yard of one of his former neighbors, a nurse from Brookhaven. Lisa Garrison, Garland, something like that. A nice girl, but a bit strange. She'd disappeared years earlier, under mysterious circumstances. A shame, really. He didn't know the couple that had moved in since then, as they kept to themselves.

He didn't pay any more attention to the dog, mounting his bike and checking his brakes. He'd learned from years of riding that if you didn't find out what's broken and what's working before you ride, you might not live to regret it. A broken shoulder after his brakes failed four years earlier had taught him that lesson. Cars aren't the best method of stopping when you're out of control.

After a final check, he began to pedal. It wasn't very long before he came to the intersection of Carrol and Rendell.With a sweep to the right, he pulled out onto the quiet street. To his surprise, he hadn't seen a single car out and about, or any of the usual joggers or dog walkers.

"It's like a goddamned grave yard..." Arthur mumbled, slowing to a coast as he neared the Heaven's Night "Gentleman's Club" and the Texxon Gas Station. He rather disliked Heaven's Night, as it drew business away from Neely's. Now, however, it seemed something had drawn business away from everything in town.

The Texxon stood silent, lights off. Oddly enough, there was a green hatchback sitting at one of the pumps, hood up, nozzle sticking out of the gas tank. It looked as if it had been abandoned mid-fill. The air reeked of gasoline.

_The hell..? Why's the station closed with the pumps on?_

Arthur blinked in confusion and then shook his head. A power outage! That had to be why. The pumps ran on a generator independent from the rest of the station, to make sure gas was available no matter what. That would also explain why there were so few cars out, and no street lights. Nobody wants to deal with a work place during a major power shortage, and a stop light without power could turn into a major gridlock situation.

_I know I wouldn't like to get stuck in that situation. Then again, there's never any traffic here. Who's ever heard of a traffic jam in nice, quiet, boring Silent Hill?_


	2. Two

Two:

Another few blocks, and Arthur had finally reached the lake's edge. Behind him, the town of Silent Hill stretched out, quiet and still beneath a blanket of all encompassing fog. The miasma swirled and roiled in places, stirred by unseen movement.

Ahead, the lake appeared to be a glassy black slab of stone rather than water. No wind stirred the surface. No birds cried out in the trees lining the shore. To the left, up Nathan Avenue, he could vaguely make out the Silent Hill Histroical Society, outlined in silver and grey.

To the right, he could see the clustered pines of Rosewater Park, the tall walls blocking out all but the top of each tree. It was a small park, with a memorial at the lake's edge. He had never figured out what the memorial was for. According to local legend it involved a witch burning in the 1670s.

Arthur turned east on Nathan, riding past the park. To his surprise, the gates were closed and chained. He'd never seen the park locked before, and it was strange to find it so on such an unusual day.

He turned his attention back to the road, and found another dog crossing his path. He slowed and watched it disappear into the trees bordering the lake. Coasting silently past the tree line, he could make out a moving outline beyond.

Low and hunched, the dog resembled a Rottweiler in profile. He hadn't gotten a very good look. The fog had masked the creature, blurring it's outline and washing out the colors. It had seemed to be limping. Upon closer inspection, Arthur could see streaks of blood on the asphalt beneath his tires.

_Must be wounded. Not my problem, though. Last thing I need is an angry Rottweiler on me._

Without a second thought, Arthur turned off of Nathan and into the alley between the Lucky Jade Restaurant and the Woodside Apartments.

Although the alley was uncomfortably claustrophobic and dark, it was a shortcut that never had any form of foot or road traffic. He'd used it to get to work several times in the past, when a traffic light had sputtered out, or when he spotted one of the creepy locals walking down Neely.

The locals weren't so bad most of the time, but there were a few spooks who could make your blood run a little colder without even speaking. According to rumors around town, they were involved with some religion that had a church somewhere in town. Then there were the rumors of drugs being sold by several of the locals...

_Like that freak, Dahlia. That woman's a serious whack job...And so's that fucked up Vincent who works out of the hospital..._

Dahlia was an old woman. Or so she seemed. She could've been anywhere between fifty and eighty, and Arthur could've never told. And then there was Vincent...A creepy teenager who worked up at the hospital in some capacity or another. He'd been assisting the doctor that had treated his shoulder, Kaufman, Kaffman, something along those lines. He was bad with names, but faces he could remember. None of those three could have ever left his memory.

Dahlia's sunken, eerie eyes and eternal frown. Vincent's unsettling grin and coke bottle glasses. And the Doctor...Greasy, ugly. A big man, with a bad attitude. Like a used car salesman with a serious problem.

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts as he rode out into the fog again. He had completely ignored the dirty Woodside Apartment Building and the Restaurant on the way through the alley. It opened out onto Katz Street, turning east once more. He'd stop by Neely's and ask Garrison about what was happening. Maybe old Gare knew something.

To Arthur's surprise, a city bus had been parked across the intersection of Katz and Neely street. It appeared to have been in an accident. The front end had crumpled slightly, the remains of a power line laying across the top, a telephone pole snapped nearly in two. The worst of the damage seemed to have been spread out across it's side.

Deep tears in the metal and exploded glass. An unpleasant looking red streak down one side. And...Bullet holes? Arthur flicked his kick stand down and hopped off of the bike, approaching the bus and leaning in to examine a series of holes.

They really WERE bullet holes. He could make out several slugs still buried in the surface.

_Jesus...What if it's not a power outage? What if there's been some major police shootout? Escaped cons...Terrorists...Something._

Arthur had to get to Neely's. He turned back to his bike, mounting it once more and putting all of his muscle into pedaling. Riding past the abandoned bus, he turned south-east and made for the bar, situated on the nearby street corner.


	3. Three

Three:

Arthur rode hard and fast, squeezing the brakes just as he came into the alley behind Neely's Bar. He hopped off of the bike and pulled his keys free, running to the employee entrance. He had to get inside and find Gare. It was his shift, so he'd be there with the town drunks, Amos and Derrik.

He shoved the door open and stepped inside, slamming the metal door and searching blindly for the light switch. His hand found the switch and flicked it. Of course, as he had expected, nothing happened. He knew the way through the back room and into the bar, so he was fine either way.

A few stumbling steps through the back room and he found the door leading to the bar. He pushed through, raising his voice as he entered.

"Gare, what the hell is going o..n..." Arthur said, his voice dying away as he took in what waited for him: The bar had been ruined. Stools lay in heaps, broken and piled in the corners. Part of the front window had shattered, and the rest had been covered entirely in old newspapers.

The bar itself seemed to have been split down the middle. It had collapsed partially, almost a full six inches lower than he remembered. The shelves behind the bar were bare, devoid of bottles. They had also been damaged.

What disturbed him the most, however, wasn't the bar, or the stools, or the newspaper. It was what had been painted across the newspapers in brilliant crimson.

"There was a hole here. Now it's gone."

Arthur stared at the red lettering. He had a terrible feeling in his gut that whatever it was, it wasn't paint. He approached the strange message and reached out, touching it lightly. It came away on his fingers, sticky and warm. It stank of copper. 

Withdrawing as if burned, he realized that it was fresh. Very fresh. He backed away and then decided that he had to leave. Not just the bar, but the town. Whatever was happening, he had to get out, find help in one of the neighboring towns.

The stack of stools presented Arthur with a weapon. An intact stool leg, made of heavy oak, with a series of nails protruding along it's length. It wasn't a shotgun, but it would do in a pinch.

The towns he could choose from were Paleville, about thirty miles to the west, or Pleasant River, twenty five miles through the mountains to the east. Either ride was going to be harsh in this weather, but Pleasant River had the largest police force, and an even larger hospital than Silent Hill.

Whatever had happened, people were hurt. The bullet holes in the bus had been evidence of either police response or an armed attack. He hurried through the building and yanked open the door to the alley. He didn't bother to close it, as he didn't intend to return.

He climbed back onto his bike and wheeled himself out into the street. He had exited back onto Neely. If he rode south-east, he would end up at the intersection of Sanders and Lindsey. To the east of the intersection was the dirt biking path, Wiltse Road. Then it was a straight shot north and back to Nathan, which would lead straight to Pleasant River.

Arthur liked to think he was no slouch when it came to biking, but as he turned onto Sanders, he couldn't help but give in to his panic. He had left for his ride that morning, anticipating little more than exercise. Now he was sure that if he didn't get out of town, he would be in serious danger.

_Yeah...It should be real fun getting up that bike trail and then through the mountains. At least I should get out of this blasted fog when I get higher._

The fog had, if anything, grown thicker. It had seemed as if the sun would breach when he had left the house. Now, riding down Sanders toward the intersection, it seemed to press in closer, like a white blanket of winter. He found his eyes watering against the chill fingers of miasma whipping past his face.

A blur of motion at his side caught his attention. Something was keeping pace with him, running through the trees bordering the road. It was a dog, lurching abnormally as if injured. His eyes strained against the white wall of fog, but only long enough for him to see what it was following him.

Eyeless and sickly yellow in coloration, the slobbering, panting creature seemed to be covered in blood. It's skin hung from it's body in tatters, almost like bandages wrapped around an ancient mummy. It was shaped like a dog, but looked more like some sort of hideous surgical mistake.

The grotesque head turned toward Arthur, and split open from the throat to the crown of the skull, a wet ripping sound echoing through the fog. A long, tube-like tongue lolled out, lashing wildly, throwing streams of blood into the air. The monster, as it was clearly no natural creature, gave a high, wailing cry that sounded like an entire pack of wolves howling at once.

Arthur had kept the stool leg clutched in one hand, using his palm and his index finger to control the hand brake and steer with that hand. The Dog Thing lurched onto the road, plowing through the brush and screaming again.

"You want to play, you ugly fuck! LET'S PLAY!" Arthur screamed, swerving toward the creature and swinging the makeshift club with a vicious stroke. The wood cracked against it's meaty head, and a sickening crunch greeted him in response.

Although the beast was still alive, it shrieked once more, this time in abject pain. It reeled forward, it's forelegs crumpling beneath it as it's head hit the concrete. Arthur could hear it's bones shatter upon impact, the momentum carrying the beast over it's own forelegs and onto it's back.

Arthur continued to ride, watching the creature attempt to stagger to it's feet over his shoulder. It didn't continue the pursuit, opting to shamble back into the trees. Ahead, the bike path came into view.

Any concept of this being terrorists, criminals or anything natural left his mind as he rode on. The Dog Thing had given him enough evidence for that fact. Aliens, a portal to hell, genetic experiments. All of the B-Movie plotlines he'd ever heard of came back to haunt him in one stream of recollection.

Whatever they were, they were hideous, definetly vicious, and pretty damn durable. But they definetly weren't responsible for the destruction in Neely's, or wiping out a bus. And it could never have written a message in human blood.

But whatever they were, they were mortal. They could bleed, and they could feel pain.

_If the bastards can bleed, they can die... Let 'em come. _


	4. Four

Four:

Arthur came to a halt after ten minutes of hard riding. The bike path had been blocked, preventing him from continuing. Although, blocked wouldn't quite describe it accurately. The entire forest path had vanished. The earth seemed to have opened up and devoured it. The deep, yawning crevice stretched as far as Arthur could see, and curved around toward the main road.

He was fairly sure this meant that the event that had started here had a catastrophic influence on the surrounding area. If every road out of town was like this, he was in a great deal of trouble...

Arthur thought, for the first time in a decade, that he could really use a smoke. He'd broken himself of the habit nearly ten years before. With a sigh, he turned the bike and began pedaling down hill, back into the misty streets of Silent Hill. He would take Wiltse Road, back to Sanders and then north to Nathan. He'd follow it past Rosewater Park. If he couldn't reach Paleville by the western road out of town, he'd have to try the old service road off of Rendell. It didn't lead to anywhere in particular, but it lead out of town.

Speeding down the dirt road, he bypassed another limping Dog Thing at the intersection of Sanders and Lindsey. He suspected it was the same one, as rather than chase him it turned and lurched away. Arthur couldn't help but grin.

On Lindsey, he passed Gonzalez Mexican Restaurant on the left hand corner. Further north, and on the left once more, he passed the old Texan steak house. The Silent Hill Medical Clinic stood to his right, the sliding glass doors shattered, the metal frame warped outward, as if something had escaped from within. Bloody footprints seemed to make a mad, drunken path across the street and into the alley behind the Texan.

Arthur slowed only momentarily, staring hard at a hunched shape. It resembled a human, but it was difficult to tell. Whoever or whatever it was, it seemed to be wrapped in a dirty straight jacket that stretched up over it's head. He didn't need to see more. Arthur sped away and turned west onto Nathan Avenue.

Looming on the corner to the south, he passed the South Silent Hill Fire Department, St. Stella's Church, and the Pet Center. Curiosity wasn't enough to draw Arthur toward the pet store. The front windows were shattered, and blood had literally soaked the entire sidewalk. Vague, tattered lumps had been strewn about the sidewalk and the display shelves beyond the windows.

Once again, Rosewater Park came into view. Arthur pulled over, onto the sidewalk opposite the park. He'd rather keep a safe distance from the treeline where he'd seen one of the Dog Things. On the other side of the locked fence, he could make out several more shambling humanoid forms, bound in their strange straight jackets. Arthur could now make out that they had no faces.

He continued on his way, lowering his makeshift weapon at his side, keeping his left hand securely on the handlebars. The ride had begun to drain him, the cold and constant bleak whiteness having a greater influence than he had anticipated.

_Come on...Come on...The sooner I get out of here, the better..._

Arthur passed the low, sturdy structure of the Silent Hill Historical Society after a time. It was a dark building, made of heavy bricks. It had been built in the 1800s, and had long since served as a source of local "color". From the infamous "Pyramid Executioners" at the old Toluca Lake Penetentiary, to the disappearance of every single settler of the region in a single night.

The old stories of Silent Hill being a Sacred Place for a long dead local tribe. Stories of witchburnings. A cult hidden in the past. And, of course, The Lady Of The Mist, a ferry boat from town to the lakeside Amusement Park and Lakeview hotel. The Lady Of The Mist left one foggy morning in the early 1920's, and was never seen again. Every soul on the vessel had vanished with it.

Arthur could certainly understand how the stories had come to pass. If this had happened before at some point in the past, it would certainly explain certain events.

Arthur's vision had been impaired by the fog for quite some time, and he was almost feeling nearsighted. A sudden blackness loomed out of the white mass surrounding him. Another yawning canyon, cutting the road in half.

He turned sharply, skidding to a halt. The rear tire of the bike slipped out into open space, and he cursed. Pulling the bike away from the pit, he stared into the seemingly bottomless depths. Paleville was cut off as well. Only the service road off of Rendell remained.

"Come on! Just give me a break today...What'd I ever do to deserve this bullshit?" Arthur said, so irritated that he didn't even care that he'd spoken to himself more in this one day than he ever had in his entire life.

With a grunt of disgust, he began to pedal back to town, running out of breath. He'd grown accustomed to pedaling around town, around a flat, even surface. He hadn't practiced going up hill, down hill, and escaping mortal danger in his rides and even if he had stopped smoking earlier in life, the damage was done.

_If I get out of this, I'll smoke a whole goddamn pack if I want._

As he passed the parking lot of the Historical Society once more, black shapes reeled into the road. It was as if they'd been waiting for him. The Straightjackets. Arthur swerved around the first, the misshapen creature staggering after him and hissing. He could clearly see that the "jackets" were made of flesh, and seemed to be growing directly from their bodies.

A second and a third got much too close for comfort. With a mighty swing of his club, Arthur bashed the nearest one in what passed for a face, sending the creature sprawling, a gurgling scream rising. On the follow through, a nail ripped through the membrane-like flesh of the second creature's "jacket", causing the monster to reel back and shriek.

Arthur gave a satisfied grin as he left the creatures far behind. He was three for three. He turned onto Carrol, heading south. All he had to do was pass Heaven's Night and the Texxon and he was nearly home free. The two establishments dissolved into view out of the fog...

And so did a hulking, dirty shape in a rust-tinted pyramidal helmet.


	5. Five

Five:

The skin, pale and sickly, was stained with what appeared to be blood, rust and other less pleasant substances. it wore a loose garment around its waist, little more than a filthy, shredded rag, hanging down to the large creature's knees.

The helmet was steeply angled, resembling a child's misbegotten concept of a pyramid. The creature clutched an enormous weapon in one hand. A sword, or perhaps an oversized knife. It was incredibly thick, and appeared to have a series of jagged holes punched through the blade.

Arthur tried to slow, leaning back in his seat. It was a futile attempt to distance himself from the seven foot tall thing standing between him and freedom. The attempt failed spectacularly.

The bike collided with with creature and seemed to crumple. Arthur managed to throw himself free before the creature retaliated, grabbing hold of the bent bike frame and pitching it aside.

Arthur landed on his shoulder with a grunt. The bad one, no less. He could tell without moving that it had been broken again. Only pure fear made him rise, ignoring the screaming pain.

The fog seemed to give a dream like quality to the entire situation. The large, filthy creature making a slow turn toward Arthur. The all too familar pain. His ruined, mangled bike. He couldn't clear his head immediately, brandishing his club with his good arm. He could only think of one thing to say.

"You broke my bike, you ugly son of a bitch!"

He hadn't expected any kind of response, and he got just that: The prolonged stare from the pyramid creature. He couldn't see any eyes, but the mute beast seemed to be watching him. Arthur wasn't sticking around to see what it was capable of.

He wheeled around and began to run. He had to find some escape. Perhaps the car at the Texxon Station still had the keys in it. It was the closest thing to a plan he could formulate.

The station was as he had last seen it, the gas still spreading in a stinking lake. A quick check of the car's interior revealed that it, in fact, had no keys. The seats were soaked in blood, and he could smell something rotten coming from the trunk.

Arthur turned, squinting into the mist to try and see where his new companion had gone, and if he had made any progress toward the Texxon station. The creature was slowly making progress, long strides carrying it through the fog.

Arthur turned the other way to see if the road was clear. His heart immediately sank, as he found himself facing not one, but three more of the pyramid headed giants. Flanking them on either side were several of the Dog Things, and at least one of the Straightjackets.

Apparently, they had set up an ambush for him. Arthur turned back toward the first creature, which had been joined by even more Dog Things.

He rapidly backed away, stumbling over the gas hose and then turning to flee. He charged toward the gas station, hefting his makeshift club and simply throwing it straight through window.

The glass didn't shatter completely, but he didn't have time to consider the consequences of barreling through it. He simply guarded his face with his good arm and crashed through what remained.

_A weapon. I need a weapon. This is a goddamn gas station, in America. The chances of there not being a Shotgun or something are small._

He swept behind the counter, knocking cigarette packs and lighters out of the way as he searched. Sure enough, there was a shotgun hidden beneath the counter. Unfortunately, it only held six shells, and there were no extra rounds anywhere to be found.

He grimaced and picked up the weapon. Pumping it sharply with one hand, he tested the weight. He'd never fired a shotgun before, but he knew where to look for the safety, and had enough strength to pump and catch it. It'd have to do.

"Fuckin' Custer's Last Stand...What a day...Guess it's too late to care about my health now." Arthur said. He'd resigned himself to what had to happen. He snatched up a pack of cigarettes, staring at the pack.

_Lucky strikes. Well ain't that a pip. Guess God's got a sick sense of humor._

Arthur ripped the pack open with his teeth, tugging one of the smokes free with his incisors. He discarded the pack and snatched up a lighter. With a flick and a hiss, he'd lit his cigarette. A long drag and a release of smoke brought a small coughing fit on, but he enjoyed it none the less.

He picked up the shotgun again and stepped around the counter, propping the shotgun on his shoulder. The creatures had closed in around the station. It seemed as if it were a sea of them, including strange Bird-like freaks and what appeared to be a giant, four-legged Panther or Reptile of some sort in the back.

One of the Straightjackets stepped too close, and ate a face full of lead. The misshapen head seemed to collapse in on itself in a crimson cloud. He threw the gun up and caught it by the pump, snapping it down sharply and pumping a fresh shell into the chamber.

Another creature, a Pyramid this time, lurched forward, hefting what appeared to be a gigantic spear. A shot to the chest made the creature reel. Catch and pump. A second shot to the gut opened it's torso. Catch and pump. A third shot obliterated it's right knee. It fell, not dead but dying. Catch and pump.

Arthur marched toward the car, taking a deep breath. Smoke and fumes, gasoline and tobacco. One of the Dogs charged him, it's grotesque head splitting in twain. Arthur jammed the barrel down it's gaping throat and pulled the trigger. It's contents spilled onto the concrete as it jerked away and screamed, a long cry of pure agony. To Arthur's surprise, a gold wrist watch appeared to be mingled in with the stomach contents.

Arthur stepped over to the hatchback and leaned against the door. He fired his final shell into the crowd with no intent other than to inflict pain. He puffed on the cigarette again, and dropped the shotgun with a clank.

He raised his voice and blew a stream of smoke from his nostrils.

"I take it that you intend to kill me. That is an unfortunate and lamentable choice on your part. Due to your choice of action, I have decided to do something in further retaliation. So, please allow me to invite you...To get FUCKED."

The creature lunged as he screamed his last words. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, raised his good arm in defiance, and offered the creatures the world's most recognizable hand signal..


	6. Epilouge

Epilogue:

The explosion of the Texxon station wiped out everything for a two block radius. Heaven's Night was blasted to rubble as the underground fuel storage tank detonated, causing a chain reaction that vaporized the club's propane tank.

Everything in, and near, the station had been reduced to a fine red mist, even before the echo of Arthur Faust's dying words faded.

To anyone beyond the town limits, who could see the horizon clearly, there was a flash that could easily be mistaken for lightning. The sound had been entirely muffled by the thick fog in some way. The unnatural fog seemed only to amplify for those within. Outside, it muffled everything.

Unseen and unknown to anyone but the creatures stalking the fog, the Gas Station and it's surrounding area did not remain this way. The fog swirled and twisted, spinning like a whirlpool.

The miasma enveloped the entire area, blotting the smoking wreckage from view. When the fog cleared, the Texxon Gas Station had been returned to it's original state. The hatchback was gone. Leaving it had been a mistake that The God would not make again. No evidence of the conflagration remained in the illusionary town of Silent Hill. The damage had been repaired.

All was well. All was normal. At first glance, it was a perfect town.

To Harry Mason, driving toward the town of Silent Hill, the flash of the explosion looked every bit like lightning. His daughter, Cheryl, sat in the seat next to him. She had been asleep for some time.

_Looks like Rain..._

Harry glanced at his daughter and grinned. Soon, they would be in Silent Hill. He hadn't been for seven years. It had been seven years since he'd last come with his wife, and three since his wife had died.

He was going to make sure Cheryl had a good vacation. And he was going to enjoy himself as well.

After all, it's Silent Hill. What could go wrong...?


End file.
